


The Next Adventure

by detectivejigsaw



Series: Twangst Stories [13]
Category: Coco (2017), Gravity Falls
Genre: Bromance, But hopefully happy regardless since they're in the afterlife together, Death Fic, Gen, Pines twins classic, Reunion, Weird little crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-03-30 23:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19038040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/detectivejigsaw/pseuds/detectivejigsaw
Summary: The Pines twins wind up in the afterlife together-and not one they were necessarily expecting, but they're not complaining.  Here it is, folks-the weird crossover nobody asked for, but that you're getting anyway!  Kind of a drabble, kind of wishful thinking.





	1. Reunion

Ford opened his eyes and found that he was standing in the middle of a bridge made of glowing orange flower petals, with walking, talking skeletons passing him by.

This was extremely different from his situation the last time his eyes were open, so for a moment he just stood there, nonplussed.

The skeletons took no notice of him, except to step around him with the occasional “Excuse me.”  Some of them were in groups, but most were walking in ones or twos; when he took a closer look at them, he saw that they still had eyes set in their sockets, and brightly colored markings decorated their skulls- _calaveras_ , yes, that was the word.  And most of them were speaking Spanish, or heavily accented English.

It was like no world he’d ever been to, that was for sure; and he’d been to some pretty crazy worlds.  What was worrying was that he couldn’t even tell how he’d gotten here, or why.

In an effort to clear his head, Ford looked down at the bridge, wondering how such a thing was possible, and if there was some structure underneath all the petals to keep it together (though considering the number of things he’d seen in his long life that defied the laws of physics, you’d think nothing would surprise him anymore)-and let out a small yell when he saw his hands.

Namely, the fact that they were all bone.

 

No, really.  Six phalanges attached to six metacarpals and eight carpals, without any skin or muscle covering them but still staying together for no apparent reason.  And, upon rolling up his sleeve, he saw that yes, his arm was all bone too, and then that his turtleneck was hanging so loosely on him now because underneath there was just a spinal cord and a ribcage.

Ford gingerly poked at the space where his stomach used to be, and realized he could reach all the way to his spinal cord.  While fascinating, it was a little disturbing that it was happening to his own body. Especially if it meant what he thought it meant.

With a slow, sickening clarity, Ford realized that Bill had been telling the truth about what would happen when he was ninety-two, after all.  But it didn’t explain where he was, or why he was a walking skeleton now. Because he knew there were some cultures who believed in that kind of afterlife, but his family had never-

“ **FORD!!!!** ”

 

Before he could consider the matter further, he was crashed into and sent flying.

Even though they were both much lighter on their feet now (he didn’t see his attacker’s face, but he would have recognized that voice anywhere) because they were all bone, he was knocked right into the petals by his brother’s tackle-hug.

As he blinked and struggled to collect himself (literally-he thought one of his feet might have become detached from his ankle upon impact, and was grateful that he still had his boots on), he realized that Stanley was babbling excitedly in his earhole, without seeing any apparent need to release him; in his excitement he sounded a lot like Mabel.

“Holy Moses I missed you so much, I’m sorry you’re dead but I’m glad you finally got here, knucklehead!  You’re gonna love this place, there’s all kinds of cool nerd stuff to look at and lots of food and-”

“Stanley, can you let me up, please?  I think we’re starting to sink.”

Maybe it was just his imagination, but it felt like the petals were shuffling and closing around them.

Stan let out an annoyed huff, and growled, “I’m not tryin’ to leave, you stupid thing!  I just wanted to tell my brother hello, that okay with you?”

“Stanley,” Ford reminded him in a tone filled with fond scolding.

He felt his brother’s now equally-bony arms unwind from him a little, allowing Ford to push both of them up into a sitting position-where he promptly pulled Stanley into a tight hug of his own.

“I missed you too,” he whispered, closing his eyes and squeezing him so tight that if he’d needed to breathe, he couldn’t have in that moment.

They sat that way until someone coughed behind them.  Ford glanced over Stan’s shoulder, and saw two skeletons dressed like security guards standing there, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Um, sirs, would you mind moving off the bridge?  You’re causing a hold-up.”

Ford turned his head the other way (amazing; if he wanted to, he could probably turn it all the way around like an owl), and saw that some of his fellow travelers were standing in a cluster, watching them.  Several of them were saying “Awwww!” for some strange reason, and one appeared to have been buried with her phone, because she was using it to take photos.

If he’d still had skin, he would have started blushing.

“They can wait!” Stan said petulantly, not letting go of Ford.  “They’re not getting any deader, are they?”

“We’re sorry, officers,” Ford apologized, accompanying the sentence with an elbow jab into Stan’s side, and began pulling them both up; Stan grumbled but didn’t resist.  Once they were on their feet though, Ford stopped and held his twin by the shoulders so he could finally get a good look at him.

 

Despite his being just a bag of bones now, Ford recognized his brother with little trouble.  The same eyes, the same red beanie he’d acquired after surrendering the fez to Soos, the same wide huckster’s grin that he’d been missing.  His clothes hung more loosely on him now, though; had the circumstances been different, Ford might have joked about that diet and exercise regimen he’d tried to get Stan into finally paying off.  As for his face, the skull was decorated with its own _calavera_ markings, in blue and gold-the blue ones were shaped like ocean waves, and the gold mini versions of the fish symbol that had been on his fez.  It made the scientist wonder what his own skull looked like. He wondered if he should be disturbed that that train of thought wasn’t disturbing him.

Then Ford remembered why they’d stood up in the first place, and released Stanley so they could keep moving.

 

They followed the security guards across the bridge towards what looked a bit like a train station during rush hour.

“Apparently it’s a lot more crowded during Dia de los Muertos,” Stan commented.

However, there was still a line of people at the gate labelled “Arrivals.”

When they reached the line, the security guards left them to attend to business elsewhere.

Stanley looked him over, eyes practically aglow.

“You’re lookin’ good,” he said finally.  “Way too healthy to be here, heh heh.”

Ford rolled his eyes, and said, “I didn’t know this was the afterlife everyone got.  I thought it was just for people from Mexican culture.”

Stan’s laugh sounded a little nervous or uncertain this time.

“Yeah, about that…”

Before he could give what Ford was sure was about to be a very unusual explanation, they reached the front of the line, where a pretty (as can best be judged of a skeleton) young woman in a blue uniform greeted them with a bright, beaming smile.

“You finally got him back!” she said to Stan, sounding genuinely happy.

Stan nodded.  “Yeah, about time.”  He glanced at Ford. “This is Carmela.”

Carmela turned to Ford, still beaming.  “It’s been years since I’ve seen twins so glad to see each other again!  It’s wonderful that you made it-we couldn’t even get him to leave the bridge when he first got here!”

Ford blinked.  “Wait, what?”

Stan, he saw out of the corner of his eye, had suddenly become very interested in examining his shoes.

The arrival agent put her hand on her hip.  “When he arrived and we told him that we had no way of knowing when you would be here, he just sat down by the gates, right over there, and said, ‘That’s okay, I’ll wait.’”  She shook her head in a way that was meant to imply exasperation but didn’t fit with her still-upturned mouth. “And he didn’t move an inch until he finally saw you on the bridge, not for love or money.  We were worried that he wouldn’t even leave for Dia de Muertos if you weren’t here by then.”

Ford turned to his brother with a scolding look.  “Stanley!”

“What?!” he demanded, jaw clenching in defiance.  “It’s not like I had somewhere to be!”

He was still trying to come up with a good comeback to that, when Carmela said, “Sign here, please,” and held out a paper.

Ford looked down at it-and blinked in bewilderment.

“...I think there’s been some kind of a mistake,” he said.  “This lists us as being part of a...Ramirez family?”

“No, it’s correct,” she assured him.

Ford turned towards Stan and glared at him sternly.  “Explanation. Now.”

“Soos,” Stan replied.

 

“...Soos?”

“Yeah.  He put our photos on his ofrenda, so that makes us part of his family according to these jokers.”  Stan rubbed the back of his neck with one bony hand, and did that uncertain laugh again. “Crazy kid, huh?”

This time Ford couldn’t speak because he was feeling a lump suddenly grow in the memory of his throat.  He’d known, of course, how devoted the former handyman was to Stanley, but he had never thought the same sentiment applied to him.

Slowly he took the pen from Carmela and, after reading over the paper just in case to make sure he wasn’t signing anything he might regret later, he scrawled his name on the dotted line.

“Thank you,” she said, taking it.  “Señora Alzamirano should be here any moment to bring you to your new home.”

“Soos’s grandma,” Stan clarified.

“Yes, I vaguely remember her.  Very...imperturbable woman.”

And together they walked through the gates.


	2. Waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few people have asked for me to continue this, so I'm taking a page from the book of writers like Nicnac, and making a prequel.  
> Also, if any of you have ideas of your own that you want to write for this world, as long as you give me credit for inspiring you I say go for it.

Maria Alzamirano was back at the entrance to the Land of the Dead, carrying a fresh basket of  _ pan de muertos _ and a thermos full of tea.

Carmela sighed a little when she saw her approach; so far she had come every day for the past month, and it looked like she wasn’t planning to stop anytime soon.

Señora Alzamirano daintily made her way to the figure sitting against one of the gates and offered him the food.

“Thanks,” he grunted, picking up a loaf and tearing into it without much thought.

 

“Are you sure that you do not want to come visit the house now, Mr. Pines?” she asked, folding her hands together in front of her.  “A large sailboat and the beginnings of a river appeared in our backyard today; I am sure they are for you.”

His eyes lit up a tiny bit, but he shook his head firmly.  “It’s fine, I’ll come see ‘em when Ford gets here.”

Señora Alzamirano bent down a little and put a bony (yet still somehow maternal) hand on his shoulder.  “Mr. Pines,  _ por favor _ .  I am sure that your brother would not want you to stay here and do nothing.”

Mr. Pines just took a swallow of tea, and showed no indication of moving.

After a moment, Señora Alzamirano sighed and patted his shoulder once before removing her hand.  “I will return tomorrow.”

Mr. Pines lowered the thermos.  “You don’t have to, ya know. I’m fine.”

“You are family now, Mr. Pines,” she said, giving him a stern look.  And then she picked up the basket from yesterday, and turned away back home.

 

Seeing that nobody new seemed to be arriving just yet, Carmela decided to go on her break and pay Mr. Pines a visit.

What could she say; she had a bit of a soft spot for people here who were separated from their loved ones.

* * *

Stan leaned back against the gatepost, eating his snack, and watched the empty bridge in front of him.

He knew Soos’s grandma meant well, but she didn’t seem to understand.  It was refreshing, just being able to sit and do nothing for a while.

For most of his life, he’d been working and searching and trying-first to earn millions of dollars to prove to his family and himself that he could, then to fix the machine that cost him his brother, then to keep secrets from his niece and nephew, and then to get his memories back.  And yeah, the last years of his life had been great despite the crazy adventures he’d finally gotten to have with his twin, and he couldn’t wait to have more...but he liked not having to work and search and try anymore.

There was nothing he had to do now, no more urgency, and there was nothing he needed to do to get Ford back.  He could just wait, and sooner or later his brother would come to him.

 

Besides, in his one meeting with the rest of the Ramirez clan, he hadn’t felt like he really belonged.  A few of them had kept whispering to each other, asking why this  _ gringo _ was supposed to be part of their family now, among even less flattering comments.  He’d decided to wait a while before he let them know he spoke Spanish, just so he could gloat over the looks on their faces.

Some were more friendly, the ones who had spent more time visiting Soos and therefore understood their relationship better, but he still felt like a fish out of water.

 

Stan looked up and saw that Carmela was coming over to visit.  She’d started doing that about a week after he arrived; she’d wander over during her break, and just sit and share stories with him.  It had been a little confusing at first, since in his experience people usually weren’t that friendly unless they wanted something, but he couldn’t see any alternative motive in her talking to some weird old codger.  And he had to admit, he kind of enjoyed the company. She reminded him a little bit of Wendy, except a lot less lazy as an employee.

“Hey, slick,” he said, offering her the thermos.

“ _ Gracias _ .”  She sipped the tea and sat down next to him, stretching out her legs with a sigh.  “You would think being here would mean never getting achy feet again.”

“Hey, this is the Land of the Dead, not Paradise,” Stan said, before munching more  _ pan de muertos _ .

Carmela laughed softly.

 

For a while they just sat and shared their meal, until she looked over at him.

“You know, you’re really lucky.”

“...That’s not a phrase I hear about myself much,” Stan retorted.

“You are,” she insisted.  “You were in real danger of being forgotten, if you’d been brought here before that one summer.”

Stan gave her a nonplussed stare.

Carmela cleared her memory of a throat.  “This is a place built on memories, and the stories of those who knew and loved us in life.  And when they pass those stories on to others, it continues the cycle, and helps to preserve us.  But when there’s no one left alive who remembers us, or if nobody has heard our stories and passed them on...we fade away.  We just disappear, and nobody knows where we go to. And from the sound of things, there was nobody in the land of the living who knew who you really were, and nobody at all who remembered your brother.  So you were both at risk for being forgotten.”

Stan felt his no-longer-existent stomach churn.  “But-there were plenty of people who knew and interacted with me.  I was Mr. Mystery, the guy running the best tourist trap in Oregon.  And-and it’s not like Ford was just drifting through the multiverse never seeing or talking to anyone, he’s probably still got wanted posters in all those dimensions.”

Carmela touched his arm gently.  “It doesn’t always work like that.  They were people who knew your faces and heard your voices, but they didn’t know who you truly were.  Nobody did until you told your niece and nephew, did they?”

Stan shook his head after a second.  For the umpteenth time, he mentally kicked himself for once again doing something that could have screwed over Ford and himself beyond belief.

“ _ Ay _ , calm down,” Carmela said, rubbing his shoulder, “what’s important is that it didn’t happen.  You told your stories to those who love you, and they’ll pass them on in turn, won’t they?”

“...They better,” Stan said with a wry smile.

* * *

 

“Carmela!”

A woman in a suit that matched hers was calling from the arrivals station, looking annoyed.  “We’ve got a lot of people who need help being processed, and we don’t pay you to sit and talk to homeless  _ gringos _ all day!”

“Sorry, Yesenia!”  Carmela gave Stan an apologetic smile as she rose.

He shrugged indifferently.  “Not the worst thing I’ve been called.”

“Still.”  She took a last sip of tea, leaving the rest for him.  “Let me know if you want a book or anything else I can get you.”

“Thanks.”  Stan went back to just waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ask and ye shall receive, Birdgirl_AMP.
> 
> I don't know if the 'being forgotten' process actually works like that, but the way things are for these boys it seemed like a possibility, and what kind of sadist writer would I be if I didn't include it? *Cackle cackle*  
> Also, quite a few writers have given Soos's abuelita the name Maria, and I figured, hey, why the heck not.

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes:
> 
> 1\. I know that in Coco the bridge is only there during Dia de Muertos; let's say just for argument's sake that a version of it is also there for when people first die, because artistic licence is a beautiful thing.
> 
> 2\. Quite a lot of people seem to think Stan is going to die first, and Ford might live a few years longer. Ideally, they would just stop aging and live forever, but in the event that they must die, I think (hope?) that when one does, the other won't be too far behind, because they've spent far too many years being separated for dumb reasons, and separation via death is the dumbest reason of all. So at most I'm thinking that here they would be separated by eight months. That okay with you? If not, I'm the writer and you're not, so deal with it.
> 
> Hope you like it regardless.


End file.
